


Envy

by Nekos_Black_Rose_13



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love, fading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekos_Black_Rose_13/pseuds/Nekos_Black_Rose_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas fell in love with Aragorn the first time he laid eyes on him. But the man's heart already belonged to another-Arwen. Legolas loved Arwen like a sister, and the way she held his love's heart made him envious. And envy can cast a very powerful spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction and it might me a little OOC. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This work is based off of Envy by One Eyed Doll.

When Legolas first met Aragorn he had fallen. Everything in his world fell away and his life became centered on those deep, knowledgeable grey eyes and the dark waves of wild hair. And as he grew to know Aragorn more he fell deeper and deeper in love with him. He entertained the thought that maybe someday he would be more than a mere friend to the mortal man. And that thought turned to dream and then to a strong hope to which his very being clung. Then he met Arwen. She was kind to him and discussed many things with him. Legolas thought that perhaps he had found a dear friend in the Evenstar. She was tall and fair, dark haired and the utter vision of perfection.

Then Legolas saw them together. He had been going to speak with Aragorn before the meeting about the ring. He had worries he wished to discuss with his friend. But he stopped short at the sight he found. Aragorn and Arwen stood with their hands entwined, their foreheads pressed together and they spoke softly to one another in tender Elvish. Legolas felt his throat tighten. Felt his heart slowly begin to tear and shatter. He felt as though his life meant nothing. Like his only reason for being was gone. He felt betrayed.

Arwen turned when she noticed someone watching them and smiled kindly to Legolas. Her kindness only made the feelings of betrayal and hopelessness worsen. She was perfect. And she was everything in Aragorn’s eyes. She was everything that Legolas could not be. He apologized for intruding and left quickly. He tried to distance himself from Aragorn to make his pain less torturous. But the man would have none of it.

As they travelled they grew closer together and Legolas’ pain only worsened. He could do nothing about it, for he was close to his beloved and it was more than he could hope for. But the Evenstar hung prominent and pure around Aragorn’s neck-a constant reminder of the elf that Legolas could never be. At night, when the others slept he thought and pondered on things he should not. He wondered what it would be like to be in Arwen’s place; to be able to kiss Aragorn’s lips and to feel his arms around him. He wanted nothing more than to be her.

But he could never be her. She was perfect and he was not. When she walked she floated. When she spoke everything stopped to listen. When she smiled the stars shone all the more. When she sang she made the angels weep in envy. Her skin so fair and her lips so perfectly formed and her eyes so dark and alluring. She was everything. And Legolas? Well…he was skilled with blade and bow, but he was certainly not beautiful. At least not in Aragorn’s eyes. And those were the only eyes that mattered to him.

His misery only worsened as the quest went on. His love for the future king grew and grew until it overwhelmed him. And so did his anguish. After the coronation and Aragorn’s wedding to Arwen Legolas could bear it no longer. He had played his part and hidden his pain and his envy of Arwen for as long as he could. As soon as the couple had left for their wedding bed Legolas had fled. He had given a hasty goodbye to his friend, Gimli, and rode off on his stead as fast as he could. He found himself in the realm of Galadriel, Lorien. He stayed there for a little while in her company.

“You are troubled, Greenleaf,” Galadriel stated on his third day in her realm. Legolas looked at her with such sadness that it seeped into the air and into her own skin. “You love someone who does not love you back. Isildur’s heir. Aragorn son of Arathorn.” Legolas nodded and looked down at the ground beneath his feet. “Why do you not let go of your yearning and be at peace with the bride he chose and find another for yourself?”

The answer Legolas gave was, “Because the sea of my love for Aragorn has grown too deep and vast. I am drowning in it and I no longer know which way is towards the shore nor how to swim there.” Galadriel’s eyes saddened and she reached out to gently cup the young elf’s cheek. She could see just how lost he was in his love for Aragorn and his envy of the lady Arwen. She knew that he would begin to fade soon, but she hoped that his envy would not over take him. Envy could be a very ugly, twisting and overpowering emotion for an elf so young.

Legolas left Lorien a few days later and arrived in his home wood of Mirkwood not long after. He went about his duties and buried himself in it. He barely talked to his friends or rejoiced during their parties. But he did drink. He drank in order to drown himself, but it was no use. And as Galadriel had feared it was his envy that consumed him first. It filled him with hate and rage. But this rage was directed and no one but himself.

One night after receiving news that Arwen was pregnant with the king’s heir Legolas sat in his chambers staring at his own reflection. He took in his long blond hair which his father had so revered, calling it fairer than even gold and wished it was dark and rich. He looked at his blue eyes which many called beautiful and said were filled with starlight and wished they were darker and deeper. He looked at his pale lips and wished they were fuller and redder. He scanned his pale skin and wished it was more alabaster. He felt of fingertips that were callused from long years with bow and blade and wished they were smooth and soft. He ran a hand down his flat chest and wished he had been born with supple breasts and other woman parts instead of those of a male.

He reached out and gripped the dagger he always kept with him. It was sharp and keen, having freshly been sharpened. He gripped his long locks in his other hand and placed the blade against them. Slowly he sawed the long blond hair off and watched it drop to the floor with empty eyes. He did not care. If Aragorn would not look at them nor run his fingers through them, why should he keep them? He then looked at his fingers and felt of his calluses. He despised them. He held the blade against his finger and slowly sliced away the skin. He did this without flinching until each of his fingers and palms were free of calluses. Until there was no evidence of his skill with bow and blade. Strangely, he did not feel the pain he was supposed to.

He put the blade down, now stained with blood, and looked at himself against in the mirror. His hair was now short, cut to chin length. He seemed…different. But he was nothing like Arwen. He ran his fingers through his hair and watched as the still bleeding fingers and palms left red streaks through it. He stood and went to his bed where he curled up and stayed. There he lay for hours until a guard came to inform him that his father wished for his presence. What the guard found was Legolas lying still on his bed with his eyes dead, his hair cut and his hands bleeding profusely.

The guard ran to Thranduil to inform him of his son’s condition. The king of the Woodland realm grew distraught and went quickly to see his son. No matter what he tried he could not get his son to respond. He was lifeless. Within himself. Withdrawn from everything around him. His envy and malice had faded when his deeds were done and all he had felt was a great emptiness. He could bare it no longer. So, he had retreated inwards, into a world where he was happy. Where he had his beloved king in his arms and his graceful friend to share knowledge with. Everything was perfect in this little paradise he had built for himself.

Word spread quickly through the realms of the Woodland Prince’s state and when the news reached Gondor it shocked and frightened Aragorn and Arwen. Word had spread to Gimli as well. Gimli knew of Legolas’ love for Aragorn and kept it hidden as he had promised, but he had not known that his beloved friend’s pain delved this deeply. Aragorn quickly prepared to leave to see his friend. Arwen sent gifts and her love, but she could not go for she was with child. Aragorn left quickly and met Gimli on the road. They traveled for three days and were nearly halfway to Mirkwood when something strange occurred.

They were sleeping, for men and dwarves do grow tried, and the night was still. Not even a breeze stirred the grass around them. All was quiet, when suddenly Aragorn sat up straight as an arrow. His grey eyes wide and his chest heaving with heavy breaths. His heart hammered hard and fast in his chest and sweat trickled down his temple.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He looked to Gimli and saw that he had woken as well. Though it was because of Aragorn’s sudden movement that he stirred. He stared at his friend and saw the fear and despair in the king’s eyes.

“Something has gone terribly wrong,” The dwarf spoke softly. It was strange to hear Gimli’s gruff voice so soft. It was as though he was afraid to disturb something that was quite near them. They could not stay idle any longer. They quickly made their way the rest of the way to Mirkwood. They met the guards and told them they needed to see Thranduil and his son urgently. The guards looked at one another before going to inform their king of the visitors’ presence. Thranduil commanded that they be let in and allowed to meet with him.

“I am finally allowed to meet my son’s closest friends,” Thranduil said upon their arrival. He stood before them tall and rigid. Cold and hard. He stared at each of them in turn. There was something in his eyes that made them both fear for the worst. Grief in its purest form. “I suppose you have come because you have heard what has befallen my son.”

“Yes, my lord,” Aragorn replied, bowing his head. “We heard that he was ill and came as quickly as we could.” Thranduil made a noise like a scoff or a stifled sob. Neither man nor dwarf could tell which it was.

“You have come too late, I am afraid,” He said. “Come. I will show you where he now rests.” An icy hand gripped Aragorn’s heart and he could barely make himself follow the tall elf through the halls of his realm. He did not believe this to be true. Legolas, so strong and pure and bright and cunning and beautiful, could not be dead. He was elvish. Immortal.

They came to a closed room with two guards standing at the door. Thranduil waved them away and pushed open the door. Aragorn stepped inside and froze. Legolas lay on a bed of dark blue velvet sheets. His hands gripped his bow and quiver loosely against his chest and his head rested on the pillow of Galadriel’s lap. The Lady of Lorien looked up at them and gave a faint, sad smile. But Aragorn’s eyes did not see her. He saw what had happened to Legolas. His hair-so short and uneven. And his fingers…bandaged completely.

Slowly the king of men walked towards his still friend and fell to his knees at his bedside. The dwarf followed, tears already streaming down his cheeks. He knew what had caused this to happen to his friend. His brother in arms. This fair creature had been driven mad by envy and drowned in sorrow by a love that could never be. No matter how unreachable an elf may seem they were just as delicate as they were strong. And Legolas had been so, so very strong and therefore so, so very delicate.

Aragorn looked up at Galadriel with the sadness of hundreds and tears that would soon be shed in his eyes and asked, “What hurt him so that he would leave us behind?” The Lady smiled even more sadly and reached down to cup the king’s face in her palm.

“A love he could not have and an envy he could not endure,” She replied softly. “He loved someone he could not have and he loved them so strongly that he could not bear for them to be unhappy, but he could not bear to be apart from them. And yet he envied the person they loved. But he loved that person as well, and the turmoil within him undid him.”

“Will he be happy where he is now, my sweet lady?” Gimli asked, looking up at Galadriel. She turned her eyes to the dwarf and smiled fondly at him.

“He will be. For his pain will not follow him to that next world,” She said, running her fingers gently through his shortened hair.

“Will you answer my question, my lady?” Aragorn asked, reaching out to gently touch Legolas’ shoulder. But he pulled away quickly for the elf was cold. Far too could. Legolas’ shoulder had always radiated warmth when he had gripped it. It felt wrong for it to be so cold. He looked up at Galadriel to see her nod. “Who did he love but did not love him back? And who did he envy yet love as well?”

“That is two questions, son of Arathorn,” Galadriel replied.

“But will you answer them?” Aragorn asked again, looking at her with pleading eyes. She nodded.

“I will,” She said softly. She looked down at Legolas’ form and placed her hand over one of his-the one holding his bow-before she started. “He loved you, Aragorn. His heart was yours from the moment you met. And when he met your intended, Arwen, he had no knowledge of your relationship. He formed a deep friendship with her and looked upon her as a sister whom he could share many things with. By the time he found out that you two were intended for one another it was too late for his heart. He already loved you very deeply and that love only grew stronger as your quest went on.

“As for his envy of Arwen…he hated that he envied her. And he hated himself that he could not be more like her. So, in a fit of hopelessness and self-hate he cut off his hair and carved off his calluses-tokens he had earned for working so hard with his weapons in battle. And that was when his energy left him and withered away completely.”

Aragorn stared in utter shock and disbelief as Galadriel finished speaking. He could barely keep up with his own thoughts, his mind was reeling. Gimli already knew all that the Lady spoke of and had shut it out in order to continue grieving. But Aragorn could hardly handle this news. Finally, after it had all sunk in and had time to fester he murmured, “I did this,” and the tears began to fall. It would be said later that his scream of agony would be echoed from another, farther down the hall. The screams of Aragorn and Thranduil echoed in the halls of Mirkwood for days and nights until all was quiet in mourning.


End file.
